


Technically, Missing

by Lithophene



Category: Mass Effect, Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Character Insertion, Camaraderie, Gen, M/M, Not really a fusion, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 07:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3282419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lithophene/pseuds/Lithophene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Crucible worked. Earth was saved, but the Earth Shepard wakes up on isn’t the one he remembers. Giant monsters and machines are a hard thing to forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, so here we go.Starts off pre-Movie. This is going to be mostly drabbles exploring Shepard in the Pacific Rim universe. Rating will change. More on Ross [here](http://lithophene.tumblr.com/characters). Title based off of this [soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6K_A9rUs4Nc). Unbeta’d.

**December 19, 2025**

* * *

 

It feels like he’s swimming in darkness, with all sound muffled and mute and frozen. Is this what it’s like to be held in stasis? He doesn’t like it – he shouldn’t be like this. This isn’t right. The Crucible… The Reapers… The last thing he remembers is being engulfed in a bright light and then… nothing, as if everything he is and was suddenly got swept away. He lashes out at the dark, trying to wake up or move or do anything. He shouldn’t be like this.

He draws in a large breath, gasping for air as his eyes flutter open and stares ahead. He can feel his body, stiff as a rock on a padded bed, but… he can’t see. His eyes are open, and yet all that lies before him is black, as though someone were holding a veil in front of him, and he can just barely tell there’s a light shining down on him. “I don’t understand.” His throat feels like it’s been through a grinder and it hurts to speak. Just what exactly happened to him?

He hears a door open, and someone enters.

“Who’s there?” He manages to croak out. He’s greeted only with silence, and it unsettled him. Instinctively, he tries to bring his hand up to his chest defensively only to stop halfway with a sharp tug on his wrist. He tries again and something digs into his skin, clanking loudly as if it were straining against a bar. Great. He’s handcuffed to a bed, but… metal handcuffs? What kind of backwater place still used metal cuffs?

A voice outside – multiple voices, he realizes – draw his attention, getting louder and closer. Shit. _Shit_. What did he get himself into? The last time something like this happened, he’d been running with his gang back on Earth. He tenses at the memory and focuses on the footsteps approaching. The voices quiet down once they step into the room. He doesn’t need his eyes to tell the air’s tense. He can almost feel it. He all but snarls at where he guesses the figures are standing, “Someone care to explain why I’m cuffed?”

“Safety precautions.” A man announces. His voice carries authority, and it’s enough to make him calm down a bit. It almost reminds him of one of his COs. The familiar cling of dog tags make him perk up slightly, tilting his head toward the sound. “Commander John Shepard?”

“That’s the short version.” He shifts uncomfortably, the fabric on his chest feeling almost foreign to him. “Commander Johnathan Ross Shepard, at your service. Though I prefer Ross.” He jangles the cuff on his hand before staring at where he last heard the voice “I’d rather not be cuffed and blind.”

That earned him a few murmurs from the others in the room. He can’t tell how many there are, but he can feel their eyes on him. The previous man speaks up, “We were hoping you could explain your condition.” There’s an emphasis on the last word.

Ross shuts his eyes before sighing. Right. Not many people knew that he’d _actually_ died two years back. Even fewer knew that he was technically half-cybernetic. Probably gave the hospital crew a scare to find out the savior of the galaxy wasn’t entirely human anymore. Even he forgot sometimes. He opens his eyes before tilting his head slightly and shrugging his shoulders (an action he quickly regrets since it only makes him ache more), “Cybernetic implants. Look – could you just take these off?”

There’s a long stretch of silence while he keeps his hand up expectantly. Eventually he hears the jangle of keys and the satisfyingly archaic click of the lock releasing. Ross can’t help but grin once his hand is free. “Much obliged.” He rubs at the tender spot on his wrist before springing his omni-tool to life. He’s run diagnostics on his implants so often, being practically blind barely makes a difference – it’s almost muscle memory. After a few seconds of tinkering, he can feel his eyes stirring awake and recalibrating. Slowly, his vision starts to come back to him.

Just in time to see the scared faces aiming their guns right at him.

“Whoa!” He cries out, and _fuck_ if it didn’t hurt to raise his voice. His hands shoot up in surrender, “Let’s all calm down.”

“Where did you get that?” Ross’ eyes wander back to the familiar voice. There stood a relatively tall man, broad shouldered and dark skinned, donning what looked like navy blues only… older? It’s not like any Alliance uniform he’s seen before. If anything, it looks more like it belongs in a museum. He can’t deny the impressive number of badges and stars attached though. He had rank. His posture was stiff as he stared Ross down.

“Where did I get what?” He finds himself asking, more than slightly confused. “My omni-tool? Everyone has an omni-tool. What kind of a question is that?” Unless… That can’t be right. Even the most remote countries on Earth have omni-tools, and they’re still almost a century behind in technology. His eyes wander over to the handguns aimed at him and… holy shit. No. No fucking way. “You don't know what this is, do you?" Silence. "What year is it?” He manages asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“2025.”

2025\. 20-fucking-25. He can’t help but pale and laugh when he hears that. Now he knows what it was like for Javik to wake up and find himself in a completely different time. It takes a while for him to process the information. It wasn’t enough that he went back in time nearly two centuries, but this Earth, this… reality, seems to follow a different timeline than the one he knew. There’re no Reapers, no Turians, no Citadel. Nothing. Just Earth and colossal monsters pouring out of an interdimensional portal in the middle of the Pacific Ocean called Kaijus.

He’d been hoping to retire once the war with the Reapers was done. Maybe help out with the reconstruction efforts, but he was done with that life. Anderson…Fuck. He’d meant to live a life for Anderson. Settle down, find a nice guy, and maybe raise some kids… anything that didn’t involve him charging in guns blazing. He rubs at his eyes before letting out a shaky breath. Wrap up one war only to get dragged into another… What a life he has, but if this is where he’s going to be stuck… He’d rather Earth stay standing, even if it’s not the Earth he grew up on.

Eventually it was just him and the man who’d later introduced himself as Stacker Pentecost and his second in the room once they deemed fit that he wasn’t a threat to anyone. Hell, he was too stiff to even try getting up just yet. He’d been in a coma for nearly two months, apparently. Washed up on a shore, barely breathing. Turns out his body almost gave out a few times from trying to pick up the slack of his now-defunct implants. A quick scan with his omni-tool revealed that most of his implants were fried rather than disabled or malfunctioning. The fact that he’s even alive only serves as testament of his willpower. He didn’t save the damn galaxy just to die.

Ross runs a hand through the ginger locks on his head before nodding with determination after Pentecost gave him a sitrep, “You need candidates to pilot these ‘Jaegers’? Sign me up.” Pentecost’s second – a small, Japanese woman with blue streaks in her hair – looks about ready to protest. “Look,” He can’t help but sigh, “I’m a soldier. Been a soldier almost half my life. I don’t really understand why I’m here or how I got here, but I’m not going to sit around on my ass while others fight a war.”

Pentecost watches him for a long while before he relents with a faint nod. “I’ll consider it.”

It’s not much, but he’ll take what he can get. They leave him to the silence of the small room, fluorescent light flickering overhead. It’s a lot take in, all of this. He’s not really sure he can if he’s being honest with himself, but if he keeps himself busy - well… maybe at least then he could at least get comfortable. He can become an asset to the PPDC, solidify his role in this new world and do something useful. Anything to try and ignore the gnawing void growing in his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

**December 20, 2025**

* * *

 

It takes him an extra day before the nurses finally allowed him to step out of the room. They left him a clean set of clothes, all sporting the brand of the PPDC. The first thing he’d done was run his fingers over the fabrics, mesmerized by just how different it feels from the synthetic shit he’d gotten used to. It’s a bit silly, he thinks, how just one day later he’s already sporting the colors of a different group. Might not be the Alliance blue, but it’s something.

He stretches lazily once he’s dressed, trying to ease the last few kinks in his muscles, and scratches at the itchy navy sweater. Today’s the day he’s meant to get a grand tour of the facilities – the Hong Kong Shatterdome. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit he’s a bit anxious. He paces around his small room before grunting loudly. All this waiting is setting his nerves on edge. He hooks his thumbs into the pockets of his slacks before making up his mind. If he’s going to stand around, he might as well do something productive.

His omni-tool’s all but whining once he brings it up, numerous errors and warning littering the hologram. No extranet, no connection to commlinks, nothing. He frowns slightly when he spots the clock glitching out in the corner, stuck cycling through numbers in an attempt to synchronize. With a huff, he swipes away all the messages and punches in the new date: December 20, 2025, 0720 hours. A chill runs down his spine and he swallows.

His crew. His friends. He’ll never see them. He shakes his head roughly – he never got to say goodbye. Maybe it’d be better if he didn’t come back. If it’s been two months here… Well. They’d probably already mourned over him. Better not to reopen old wounds a second time. He sighs loudly before taking a seat on the edge of the bed, humming softly. Better get comfortable… and informed. He brings his omni-tool and runs a quick scan for any data transmissions and latches onto a wifi signal before running decryptions and logging in.

“Child’s play,” He murmurs to himself as he worms his way into the Shatterdome’s mainframe.

The next few minutes pass with him humming quietly as he digs around the files. A few things catch his attention and he flags them for closer inspection, curiosity getting the better of him. He brings an image up on his screen and narrows his eyes at it. Is that what a kaiju is? It’s a monstrous looking thing that looked like it crawled straight out of an old Lovecraft book. How the hell do these people fight them? That’s when he finds the files on the Jaegers and boy if he doesn’t light up at that. Giant robots! Pilotable robots! Joker would be flying off the bat if he knew this Earth had that technology.

He brings up a few video recordings of early trial runs of various Jaegers, watching in awe at the brutal grace of the machines. How did this Earth have this kind of technology and yet they never did? He catches a few terms mentioned he’d check up on later, but something in the frame catches his eye. He reels back the footage frame by frame before freezing it in place. No way. He brings a hand up and zooms in. This Earth already has holographic interfaces and something that looks eerily similar to an omni-tool on both pilot’s hands.

“What are you doing?” Ross nearly jumps at the voice before spotting Pentecost’s second standing at the doorway. Her eyes are narrowed. That’s not good.

He offers her a cheeky grin, “I’ve got to admit, these Jaegers?” He presses play and lets his eyes wander back to the screen, “Impressive machinery. We didn’t have anything like them where I’m from.” He can’t help but whistle appreciatively at the screen before shutting down his omni-tool and glancing at the woman, “What’s it take to pilot one of them, Miss uh…?”

“Mori,” She supplies, “Mako Mori, and it takes much to pilot a Jaeger. Knowledge of the technical aspects of the Jaeger is absolutely essential along with the ability to be pushed to both mental and physical limits. Most importantly, a pilot must be able to trust the person next to them. Without trust, there is no dialogue, and without dialogue there is no compatibility.”

“Huh.” Ross nods briefly before meeting her eyes. “I want to pilot one.”

Mako frowns and clasps the clipboard close to her chest, “I am afraid that is not possible.”

“Why not?” He challenges.

“We know nothing of you or your qualifications.” Mako purses her lips slightly, “According to all records, you do not exist. You are an anomaly. We have no data or statistics to pair you up with another candidate even if we were to consider you.”

Ross snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then we make new data.”

“The Academy is closed. We do not –”

“I can do it.”

“Is that confidence,” Stacker Pentecost steps into the room, hands held neatly behind his back. “Or is that arrogance, Shepard?” The Marshal asks coolly. The question almost stings, memories of a younger version of himself coming to mind. He’d been arrogant once. Too cocky in his own abilities. The slaughter of his platoon on Akuze tempered him.

Ross acknowledges the other man with a nod, “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

Pentecost looks pensive for a moment. “Permission granted.”

“It’s confidence. I’ve fought things bigger than kaijus in numbers large enough to block out the sky and came out alive. I might not have my guns or my crew, but put me in a Jaeger, and I’ll raise hell.” Ross says, growing more determined with each word. “I didn’t save the galaxy just to sit on my ass here and watch another Earth burn.”

He feels like a child then when the two of them start to talk to each other in Japanese. Normally he’d have his universal translator sort things out for him, but that’s one of the many things that didn’t seem to survive the Crucible. They’re tense, he can tell that much. Mako’s calm demeanor seems to falter as they continue talking amongst themselves, sparing him glances on occasion. It’s not worth getting uncomfortable over. Eventually she relents and bows slightly to Pentecost before excusing herself from the room.

Pentecost sighs softly before turning to face him, “Many in the Shatterdome share Mako’s opinion. They don’t know what to make of you. You could be a threat or a liability.”

“And what of you, sir?” Ross leans forward, resting his arms on his knees, “What do you believe?”

“We have monsters crawling out of an interdimensional portal in the Pacific Ocean. Knowing that, I can’t dismiss what you say as though it were nothing.” Pentecost’s eyes bore into him, “You claim you were a commander. You know war. You know its costs.”

“Yeah.” is all he can bring himself to say. He knows it all too well.

It’s silent for a while before Pentecost speaks up again, “You have two weeks to prove to me you have what it takes to pilot a Jaeger, Shepard. Two weeks.”

Ross perks up at the news. He hadn’t been expecting that. “I won’t let you down, sir.”

“We’ll see.”

It’s two words, but it’s enough for him to know that Pentecost is taking a chance on him. A big chance. A potentially stupid chance, but if he’s here, maybe there’s… a reason for it. Maybe he just wants there to be a reason. That’d make everything a whole lot easier. Absentmindedly, he rubs at the battered dog tags hanging off his neck. He’s never been one for praying, but he does. “Let me live.” He closes his eyes and breathes for a few seconds before stepping outside to find the officer assigned to escort him around. It’s going to be a rough few weeks.


End file.
